


Ruined

by josafiend



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Delusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josafiend/pseuds/josafiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean-Eric's is delighted that his friend is going to be working with Sebastian Vettel, but what about the guy he's replacing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, and I can only apologise..

“Do you have everything?”

 

Jean-Eric quickly flicks through the papers in his hand before looking back up at Antti and smiling broadly, “Yup, all set.”

 

Antti sticks out his hand and Jean-Eric takes it, shaking it firmly and clasping his other hand over the top, “It’s been a real pleasure, Jev.”

 

Despite their relationship coming to an end, in the employment sense anyway, Jean-Eric wishes nothing but the very best for Antti. They’ve known each other far too long for silly things like bitterness and one thing that Jean-Eric can appreciate is ambition. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to work for Sebastian Vettel right now?

 

“You have your nutrition schedule?”

 

Jean-Eric rolls his eyes and places a hand on Antti’s shoulder, “I’ve got everything. If I need anything – which I won’t – I’ll email you, okay?”

 

Antti sighs with a smile and nods, “What time is your flight?”

 

“Ten-thirty,” replies Jean-Eric, looking down at his watch, “so I have a couple of hours to kill before I head to the airport.”

 

“Sorry I can’t stick around, I didn’t know they’d need me in Switzerland quite so –,”

 

Jean-Eric waves a hand, cutting Antti off mid-sentence, “Just stop,” he says, grinning at the Finn as he shuts his mouth obediently, “go and catch your plane.”

 

Antti holds out his arms and Jean-Eric pulls him into a tight hug, before collecting his backpack from beneath the coffee shop table and leading the way to the door.

 

“Take care, Antti.”

 

“You too, Jev.”

 

Jean-Eric watches him as he walks away, noticing the bounce in Antti’s step as he threads his way through the crowds. He can remember that feeling, being on the verge of something incredible, and he’s pleased for his friend, because it’s some thing Antti deserves, in fact the only fly in the ointment is that Jean-Eric isn’t joining him at Red Bull.

 

 

 

It still stings a little, but what can he do?

 

The deal is done. He wasn’t good enough. Get over it.

 

 

A gust of wind nips at Jean-Eric’s ears and he shivers, pulling his head into the collar of his coat like a frightened tortoise. He has another three hours until he needs to be at the airport and, after a season spent in check in and arrivals, he’d prefer to not spend the interim time wandering around duty-free dodging autograph hunters.

 

Spying a pub and a newsagent across the street he decides to do most sensible thing he can think of; buy a paper and nurse a pint while he reads it.

 

The pub is small and it takes a moment for Jean-Eric’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, as the room is only lit by a few dim wall lamps. This isn’t the kind of place he’d normally visit, but he’s not overwhelmed with options and it’s quiet, so he’ll be able to sink into obscurity for an hour or two.

 

“Hei!”

 

Jean-Eric coughs, asking for a bottled cider in his best Finnish – thank goodness for Antti’s insistence he learn – and sets up camp in the corner, out of sight, behind a dark wooden partition.

 

Nobody will find him here.

 

He’s halfway through the third page when a door to the left of him crashes open and an unsteady figure stumbles through, reaching for the bar to steady themselves, before clambering onto a stool in front of a half drunk pint.

 

Jean-Eric clicks his tongue; the athlete in him astounded by how anyone could be that drunk so early in the day, and is about to carry on reading when something about the figure at the bar strikes him as familiar.

 

The man is clearly Scandinavian; the hair alone gives that away, but the width of his back and the size of his hands makes Jean-Eric think of someone he’s seen before.

 

It’s only when one of the hands reaches into his hair and Jean-Eric catches sight of his face in profile does he realise who the drunken man is.

 

“Heikki?”

 

The figure stiffens at the sound of its name being called, and Jean-Eric climbs out of his chair and walks to the end of the bar.

 

“Heikki, what are you doing?” he whispers. He’s about to place a concerned hand on the Finn’s shoulder when he flinches violently backwards.

 

“Don’t touch me!” Heikki snaps, the alcohol feathering his words so they burst out as one long stream of sound.

 

Jean-Eric blinks, glancing at the barman who just shrugs and heads down towards a tray of dirty glasses, and reaches for another stool which he perches on, hopefully, at a safe distance.

 

“I’m not going to touch you, Heikki, but this isn’t like you.”

 

Heikki’s head tilts and he glares at Jean-Eric from the corners of his half closed eyes, “You don’t know me.”

 

Jean-Eric sucks in a breath, “I know enough about you to know that this isn’t the kind of condition you’d approve of yourself being in, if you were sober enough to make the judgement.”

 

Heikki starts to laugh, a deep rumble that shakes his shoulders, and he rolls his eyes before throwing the remaining lager in his glass down his throat.

 

Jean-Eric can only look on in bewilderment as Heikki lifts the empty glass, waving it at the barman who refills it without question.

 

“No Heikki, that’s enough,” he says firmly, reaching for the glass and steering it away from Heikki’s grasp.

 

A huge hand clamps itself around Jean-Eric’s wrist, the fingers so tight he’s sure he can feel his bones splintering beneath the whitened skin, and suddenly Heikki’s face is close to his own, breathing alcohol fumes at him as he growls.

 

“Do _not_ start this shit with me today, Vergne.”

 

Jean-Eric releases his hold of the glass and pulls his now throbbing arm back into his chest, “I’m sorry, I just –,”

 

Heikki raises the glass to his lips and with two large gulps, half its contents is already gone.

 

“Just what?” he mutters.

 

Jean-Eric sighs and rubs his forehead, “I’ve never seen you like this before, is this about...” he’s not sure he should say it, but the elephant is now firmly in the room, “is this about Sebastian?”

 

Heikki winces at the mention of his former employer’s name, and it becomes glaringly obvious that the nail has been hit on it’s head.

 

“I’m –.”

 

“Are you sorry?” asks Heikki, smiling joylessly at the beer mat he’s pulling to pieces. “Are you going to apologise because Antti didn’t think you were worth sticking around for?”

 

Jean-Eric hears the words and he’s momentarily winded, Heikki’s laughing now and the glass in front of him is empty again, but he clearly has more to say.

 

“Perhaps I should apologise to you?” he suggests, turning unsteadily to face Jean-Eric and fix him with a hard questioning stare. “Yeah, I should. I’m sorry Jev. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for Seb. Can I get you a drink?”

 

He digs in his pocket, pulling out a fistful of coins which spill across the bar, forcing a sigh from the barman.

 

Jean-Eric’s not sure what to do, Heikki needs to sober up, quickly, but he’s not sure he could get him out of the pub, let alone coax a coffee down his throat. Where would he take him for a coffee anyway? The quiet café across the street wouldn’t take kindly to this kind of bullish behaviour and he doesn’t know anywhere else in Helsinki without the aid of a map.

 

“Get up.”

 

Heikki’s face sours with disgust at the order.

 

Jean-Eric steps off his stool and shoves Heikki in the shoulder, making him wobble for a moment before the Finn rises defensively to his feet.

 

The Frenchman smiles and Heikki looks momentarily confused, vaguely aware that he’s been tricked.

 

“You’re coming with me,” Jean-Eric continues, reaching over to the table in the corner and folding his newspaper – he’ll read it on the plane – before shepherding Heikki towards the door.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“I have to pick up my case from the hotel; you’re coming with me for a coffee.”

 

Heikki’s heels dig into the dirty floor and he opens his mouth to protest, but Jean-Eric gives him another push, “No arguments.”

 

****

 

“This hotel isn’t very nice.”

 

Jean-Eric sighs, throwing the last of his toiletries into the case as Heikki glances around his room with a critical eye. He doesn’t really care about the décor, and to be truthful hadn’t really noticed it. It was a bed to sleep in while he was sorting out business, same old, no need to become acclimatised to somewhere he’d never come back to.

 

“Drink your coffee,” he orders, and heads back into the bathroom.

 

When Jean-Eric returns Heikki is sat on the edge of the bed with his head resting in his palms. He holds his breath, watching the almost imperceptible tremble of his wide shoulders and the rise of his back as he draws in huge lungfuls of air.

 

“Heikki?”

 

Like in the bar, the shoulders flinch.

 

Jean-Eric perches beside him on the mattress, silently supporting Heikki as he tries to compose himself. The Finn sniffs, pulling the back of hand across his face, his eyes a raw red against the paleness of his skin and he tries to smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the alcohol still slurring his words.

 

“Don’t be,” Jean-Eric replies, “but explain to me something?”

 

Heikki’s eyebrows lift questioningly.

 

“Why leave if it’s doing this to you?”

 

The cold blue eyes shift to the room’s brown carpet.

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“I’ve got a couple of hours,” Jean-Eric shoots back, “perhaps getting it off your chest will help you to feel better.”

 

 

“Sebastian is –,” Heikki stops, swaying slightly and looking unsure.

 

“Annoying?” Jean-Eric suggests.

 

Heikki glances at the Frenchman’s crooked smile with blank eyes, “Yes.”

 

Jean-Eric blinks, he hadn’t expected that. “So why do you miss him so much?”

 

Heikki shakes his head, “So complicated. So needy. _Brat_.”

 

The last word is thrown out of Heikki’s mouth with such contempt it makes Jean-Eric jump slightly.

 

“He takes your life and fucks it,” Heikki continued, his eyes now narrow and angry, “and he turns you into what he wants. It has to be his way.”

 

Jean-Eric bites his lip, there is an opportunity here to learn something about one of his rivals – if Sebastian could be called that to a Toro Rosso driver – and natural inquisitiveness he has overrules the sense he would usually use to leave some stones unturned.

 

“What does he want?” he asks softly.

 

Heikki looks up and smiles, but the expression only succeeds in making Jean-Eric feel nervous.

 

“I can show you?”

 

Jean-Eric swallows, shifting his weight on the bed slightly, he’s not sure if Heikki now wants to unburden himself of two years worth of Sebastian’s requirements onto him, with potentially painful consequences.

 

Heikki breaks the silence, “Don’t know want to know the kind of treatment a World Champion gets, Jev? Aren’t you just a little bit curious?”

 

“I guess…”

 

Cupping his chin, Heikki leans in, brushing his lips against Jean-Eric’s with an almost feather-like touch. He parts his lips, running the very tip of his tongue across the lower lip before gently biting down on it, pulling away enough to tempt a sigh from the Frenchman.

 

“He would ask me to do this often,” Heikki says softly, his eyes closing at the memory.

 

Jean-Eric doesn’t reply, his lungs aching from the effort of not breathing, he hadn’t expected this at all. He’d had his suspicions, hell; the entire paddock had had their suspicions about Sebastian and Heikki, but he had never thought that those rumours and whispered accusations were actually taking place.

 

He stops reminiscing when Heikki fingers slip around his neck, tangling themselves in his hair and drawing him up to his lips. Jean-Eric opens his mouth, greedily accepting Heikki’s tongue, and allows him to push him onto his back, reaching beneath the Finn’s shirt as he climbs across him, straddling his hips.

 

“He doesn’t like to be in charge. I’m always in charge.”

 

Jean-Eric can still hear Heikki talking, perhaps more to himself than anyone else, and can feel the heat of his breath against the sensitive skin behind his ear. He tilts his head, his brow knitting as Heikki’s lips trail across the exposed tendons where his tongue flicks out, teasing Jean-Eric’s ear lobe.

 

“Sebastian liked me biting him.”

 

Jean-Eric can see why, and he’s virtually forcing his neck against Heikki’s mouth, willing him to sink his teeth into the flesh. It’s almost enough to distract him from the way Heikki’s hips are grinding down against him, his crotch as rock hard as Jean-Eric’s, and he growls as the man beneath him slips his hands down the back of his jeans and fixes them on his arse cheeks.

 

Jean-Eric lets Heikki pull his shirt off, watching with unconcealed interest as he licks and sucks his nipples into peaks, feeling the effect that it has on his cock and knowing that, despite his foggy mind, Heikki’s aware of it too because he’s palming him through the denim of his jeans so all Jean-Eric can hear is a rushing noise and the beat of his own heart in his ears.

 

When Heikki sits back to peel his own sweater off Jean-Eric’s tongue moves to wet his lips instinctively, and he wonders how Sebastian could have even considered letting Heikki walk away. He reaches upwards, grabbing impatiently at Heikki’s shoulders, abandoning all dignity in return for the sensation of their hot skin in contact again.

 

When Jean-Eric’s hands move to unbutton his fly, Heikki’s hands stop him.

 

“No, you know that’s my job.”

 

He’s not even sure if Heikki’s aware of where he is anymore, and the kindest thing would be to call it off now, but Jean-Eric’s head is spinning, and his cock is in Heikki’s hand and –,

 

“Oh God –,”

 

The temperatures inside Heikki’s mouth are too much, but not enough all at once. He gasps as his tongue glides around the head, rocking back and forth over the slit, making his hips jerk, and he lets Heikki push his thighs apart, taking all of him down his throat.

 

In a moment of heart-wrenching clarity he imagines a scene where Antti is with Sebastian, pleasing him the way Heikki is doing to him right now, turning his friend into the wasted shell of a man who drinks heavily in the afternoon and mourns the life he had being at the beck and call of a World Champion.

 

“No,” he breathes, just as Heikki’s fingers breach him, and he can hear the soothing sounds Heikki’s making, calming him against the intrusion until Jean-Eric is grinding himself against Heikki’s hand and panting hopelessly.

 

“Want you,” Jean-Eric whispers.

  
Heikki’s eyes fill with tears as he removes his fingers, carefully lining himself up as he kneels between Jean-Eric’s thighs, it’s obvious he would stop if he could, but the emotion is leading him over the edge like a lemming, hell bent on self destruction. Jean-Eric’s back arches as Heikki fills him, shifting his weight to allow for the intrusion before locking his legs around the hips above him.

 

“Good?” Heikki’s lips mumble as they crash against Jean-Eric’s, biting down on the soft flesh, making him wince so he can’t answer.

 

“It’s not my fault,” Heikki says, his forehead pressed against Jean-Eric’s temple.

 

“I know,” the Frenchman replies softly, feeling the rough connection between Heikki’s cock and his prostate within in him, the bedroom keeps tilting and pitching each time it happens, and the shockwaves pulse up his spine making his vision flash with brilliant light.

 

“You don’t,” Heikki sobs, “you don’t, you ruined me.”

 

Jean-Eric clutches at Heikki’s shoulders as the pace quickens, one of his huge hands enveloping him to stroke with the same uncoordinated rhythm, leaving him with no other option but to career spectacularly over the edge with a curse and a cry.

 

Above him Heikki’s eyes snap tight shut as he comes, the muscles in his neck tensing like steel beneath the skin, and Jean-Eric tries to ignore the trails the tears have left down his cheeks. When he collapses against him, physically and emotionally exhausted, Jean-Eric curls an arm around his shoulders, listening to his breathing as it levels out.

 

“If I was Sebastian, I would never have let you leave,” he says, but Heikki is snoring softly, the alcohol finally getting its own way and pulling him into unconsciousness.

 

Jean-Eric gently heaves himself out from underneath Heikki’s body, which is an impressive feat considering that he’s mostly muscle, and pulls his jeans back on, studying the Finn as he sleeps.

 

No more pain, his face is impassive and calm.

 

He pulls the bed covers across Heikki’s naked body and, once fully dressed, slips on his shoes. On the way out of the lobby he informs the desk clerk that he has a guest in his room who will be staying on for an extra night and asks them to charge it to his own card. Stepping out into the freezing Finnish air Jean-Eric glances at his watch and smiles, hailing a taxi and heading to the airport in perfect time for his flight.


End file.
